


quiet company

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Disney Movies, Fluff, M/M, Nerd Derek Hale, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Season/Series 03, Slice of Life, Soft af, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Rest, They're both nerds tbh, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “Yeah, okay, you are kind of a softie. Like a giant jar of marshmallow fluff.”Derek pauses. “Why not just a marshmallow for that comparison?”“The jar symbolises your muscular, husky exterior, and also the fragility of said exterior,” Stiles explains, his hands waving through the air as he adopts a philosophical expression. “The marshmallow fluff, of course, refers to the fact that you’re a completenerd.”OrIt’s important to find someone you can trust yourself to fall asleep next to. It’s also important, Derek thinks, to find someone who you can be awake with. Someone who makes the nights not as long, who makes the mornings come quicker. Derek never thought Stiles would be that someone, or that movies would be the thing that brings them together, but here they are, at four in the morning, eyes glued to the screen.





	quiet company

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff! Pure unadulterated fluff, and giant nerds, and blushing, and some of my fave films. Some mild swearing. I hope you like it! God, I haven't written Sterek in ages. I've missed these idiots.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Stiles says, shovelling chips into his mouth at the speed of light, “but I really like The Titanic.”

Derek looks up from his Kindle, glasses slipping down his nose, and side-eyes Stiles suspiciously. “Why are you giving me this sort of ammunition?” 

“Hey,” Stiles says, brows furrowed in offense. “There’s nothing wrong with liking Titanic. It’s a classic.”

“Then why did you say I couldn’t tell anyone?”

Stiles goes back to cramming chips in his mouth. “Because our friends are assholes. If you tell them, they’ll never let me live it down.”

Derek rolls his eyes and sinks further down into the cushions. They’re both sprawled on either side of the couch, feet almost touching where they’re tucked up underneath their legs. Derek’s in a comfy pair of joggers, a story about a gay Detective loaded up on his screen, and he hasn’t felt quite as warm as he does now in a long time. Stiles keeps elbowing him accidentally in between bites, and spraying crumbs everywhere, and it shouldn’t be endearing. It _shouldn’t._

“Do you have it?” Stiles asks. “The Titanic?”

“Do I have the 100-year-old ship that sank tucked away in my cupboard?” Derek asks flatly. “Why yes, Stiles, yes I do.”

Stiles flails a foot around until he can kick him lightly in the thigh, but even that movement is muted, soft. They’re both exhausted, eyes scratchy with sleep, and it’s close to three in the morning, so they both have every right to be snug in bed, fast asleep. 

But Stiles gets nightmares, now, of monsters and foxes and tricksters, and Derek hasn’t slept a full night in years, not properly. 

So, Derek digs out his copy of Titanic, in the trunk full of old DVD’s that he picks up from thrift stores, and Stiles puts it on and grabs the throw blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it round himself and propping his feet up in Derek’s lap. Derek tries to push them off, to no avail, and eventually rolls his eyes and gets back to his book. 

The night rolls on, the ship of dreams sinks, and both pairs of eyes stay stubbornly open. 

*

Stiles first shows up at Derek’s loft in the middle of the night, with the case for some kind of Japanese Anime in his hands, sometime in April. Derek hears him coming, hears the shitty Jeep croak to a stop outside the block of apartments, and heaves himself up reluctantly to unlock the door. Stiles waltzes right in, drops himself in the armchair, and grins charmingly. 

Derek sees right through it, hones in on the dark circles under his eyes, the lines around his mouth, the harsh set to his jaw. His hair is unwashed, his clothes wrinkled, and he looks pretty much how Derek feels. 

Derek sighs. “The DVD player isn’t set up yet.”

Stiles scoffs, wiggles his fingers, and that’s the end of the argument. 

They’ve come a long way since that night. Stiles drops by most weekend nights and some weekdays, when he really can’t sleep, when insomnia keeps him lying awake, staring at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against his thighs. 

The Anime stays. Howl’s Moving Castle, it’s called, and it quickly becomes one of Derek’s favourite films. There’s sweetness and humour, beautiful music, and a message that doesn’t feel too trite, something that hits home. He only lets himself watch it when Stiles reaches for it, but he always finds himself hoping that Stiles’s fingers will twitch in that direction. 

It’s a bad night when Stiles shows up, a little wild-eyed. Derek lets him come in and plop himself right down next to Derek, their thighs touching. He’s so tired, and yet he feels wide awake, like nothing could possibly send him to sleep ever again. He’s got one arm thrown over his eyes and the other tucked under his head, cushioning it, leaning awkwardly against the side of the couch. 

He can feel Stiles watching him, taking him in. 

“Okay, big guy,” Stiles says. “Time for some feel-good action, yeah?”

He slides off the couch and slithers across the floor on his belly, like he can’t be bothered to get up properly, prompting a tired snort from Derek. Derek feels a smile tip his lips up as the familiar colours dance across the screen in a matter of minutes, the music soothing his aching soul. 

“It’s Laura’s birthday,” he murmurs, when Stiles finds his way back to the couch. Stiles doesn’t even pause, just grabs the nearest cushion and drops it in Derek’s lap, tipping sideways to put his head down on top of it. Derek is so surprised that he forgets to breathe, and then he calms slightly, just lets it happen. 

“Think she’d like this film?” Stiles asks, after a moment’s passed, watching Sophie hobble across the screen. 

Derek doesn’t even have to think about it, places a hand gently against Stiles’ hair. “I think she’d love it.”

*

“Nope,” Stiles says, jumping across the room to grab the remote. “Nope, nope, nopity nope. I can’t watch this. I’m gonna sob, and there’s not going to be anything manly about it.”

The television flickers off mid-scene, and Derek pulls his glasses off to rub his eyes. 

“Dude, are you _crying_?” 

“Yes,” Derek says, glaring at Stiles through his tears. “Even dead people would cry at that film.”

“Oh, good,” Stiles says, swiping at his eyes. “Thought it was just me. Not that I’m ashamed or anything, it’s just that you’re a big burly bloke, and I don’t want you to get uncomfortable when I start writing fanfiction later to help heal my broken heart.”

Derek mouths the words _big burly bloke_ incredulously, glancing down at himself. He’s wearing a fucking sweater vest, and his socks have cartoon dogs on them. There’s a half-eaten carton of cookie dough on the side-table, and a copy of _Emma_ balancing on the arm of the couch. 

Stiles catches his look and starts cackling, his tears forgotten. “Yeah, okay, you are kind of a softie. Like a jar of marshmallow fluff.”

Derek pauses. “Why not just a marshmallow for that comparison?”

“The jar symbolises your muscular, husky exterior, and also the fragility of said exterior,” Stiles explains, his hands waving through the air as he adopts a philosophical expression. “The marshmallow fluff, of course, refers to the fact that you’re a complete _nerd_.”

Derek huffs, blushing, and throws a cushion at Stiles when he starts cooing at the red tips of his ears. 

“Whatever,” Derek mutters. “Get me another spoon, I dropped mine, and I don’t want to eat cookie dough with my hands.”

“Why do I have to get it?”

“Because you’re the one who suggested we watch The Imitation Game, and so you’re the reason that I need to eat my feelings,” Derek says patiently, and Stiles sighs, lobbing the cushion back before he reluctantly acquiesces. 

*

Stiles holds up a DVD for him to inspect, and Derek peers closely at it. He vaguely recognises it from his childhood, and nods at Stiles’s pleading expression. 

“I used to like that film when I was little.”

Stiles casts him a suspicious glance. “What do you mean, used to?”

“Kinda grew out of it.” Derek shrugs. 

Stiles looks appalled. “You don’t grow out of Disney, Derek. Put your damn glasses on and buckle up, because we are going for a ride, I tell you, a ride full of secrets, adventure, witty one-liners and a sweet, sweet romance.”

“It’s Aladdin, Stiles,” Derek says, dubious. 

“Exactly,” Stiles says, with vicious enthusiasm. “Let me guess, you were more of a Lady and the Tramp kind of guy, right? God, that film used to kill me.”

Derek thinks back to the days spent in the den at his old house, curled up, watching Cinderella or The Lion King, and immediately decides to agree. 

“Knew it,” Stiles says, popping in the DVD. “Well, you’re gonna love this. I’m going to make you love this. Finish whatever you’re doing – what _are_ you doing?”

“Cooking stir-fry.” Derek gives the pan a little shake, switching it to a lower heat. 

“At two in the morning?” Stiles asks dubiously. 

Derek gives him a look, and Stiles grimaces. When else do they do normal people things, but in the middle of the night, when they need a distraction?

“Yeah, okay, fair enough.” Stiles perks up suddenly, looking hopeful. “Is there some for me?” 

“No,” Derek says easily. “I thought I’d eat it really slowly in front of you.”

Stiles scowls at him, and Derek laughs under his breath, nodding pointedly to the two bowls set aside. 

“Put your movie on, Stiles,” he says fondly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

It’s possible that he lets a little too much fondness creep into his voice, because Stiles watches him curiously for a moment. When he turns away, his cheeks look a little red, and he clears his throat twice before talking. 

“Movie. Right. I’m about to show you a whole new world.”

*

It’s important to find someone you can trust yourself to fall asleep next to. It’s also important, Derek thinks, to find someone who you can be awake with. Someone who makes the nights not as long, who makes the mornings come quicker. 

Derek never thought Stiles would be that someone, or that movies would be the thing that brings them together, but here they are, at four in the morning, eyes glued to the screen. Well, Derek’s eyes are glued to it, but Stiles looks like he would be falling asleep, if he could. 

“Remind me never to let you pick the movie,” Stiles mumbles, slipping sideways on the couch until his head is resting on Derek’s shoulder. Derek isn’t even surprised by the rush of warmth that sweeps through him anymore. He’s not quite gotten used to the little jolts of heat that Stiles invokes in him, but he knows he looks forward to them. 

“Pride and Prejudice is a gift,” Derek says lightly. “You’ll probably have to do this in class, anyway.”

“I already did this in class,” Stiles whines. “I did this repeatedly, and I had to write an essay on it, and read the book.”

“It’s a good movie,” Derek says defensively. 

“Technically it’s a TV Series,” Stiles says, holding up a finger. “The one with Keira Knightley in is a good movie. This is a great TV Series. I just can’t watch it anymore because I will smother myself with one of your ridiculously small throw cushions. Why do you even need these?” He trails off with a mutter, picking up one of the throw pillows and examining it, possibly as a way of avoiding the television. 

“They’re decorative,” Derek mumbles, and Stiles almost chokes on a laugh. Derek stops feeling guilty about making Stiles watch Pride and Prejudice and turns the volume up instead, and Stiles groans loudly. 

“Can we at least fast forward to the part where Colin Firth jumps in the water?”

Derek pauses, thinks, and then – rather shiftily – reaches for the remote. 

*

Stiles bursts into his loft with a wordless shriek, and Derek startles, dropping his Kindle on the floor. He sucks in a breath, and they both pause to stare in horror at the device, which lies face-down on the ground. 

“If we don’t look, it’s not broken,” Stiles whispers, and Derek shoots him a glare before bending down to pick it up. He breathes a sigh of relief when the smooth screen greets him, unbroken, and then stares at Stiles exasperatedly. 

“What have you eaten today? You sounded like a banshee.”

Stiles starts to vibrate. “There’s a midnight showing of The Last Jedi on in town tonight.”

Derek almost drops his Kindle again. Stiles gives a solemn nod, and jangles his keys around. 

“Come on, quick. Get your shoes on. Are you wearing slippers?” 

Derek glances down at his feet, clad in blue tartan slippers, and shrugs, wriggling his toes. “They’re comfy.”

“Old man,” Stiles says fondly, and Derek wrinkles his nose. “Come on, Derek, or all the good seats will be taken.”

Derek shoves his feet into his shoes, grabs a jacket, and follows Stiles out to the Jeep. He’s still vibrating, chattering about the new movie and the last movie, and Poe Dameron. Derek prefers Finn, personally, but he can see the appeal. 

“We should have watched the last one first, so we were prepared,” Stiles says, frowning as he turns the key. Derek taps his fingers against the seat and hides a grin. Stiles’s excitement is infectious, so even if he didn’t already love Star Wars, he’d be pretty hyped up just from sheer proximity. 

“I’m just glad you’re not dressed up,” Derek snorts. “I don’t really want to go on a date with a guy dressed as a wookie.” 

Stiles’s foot slips on the pedal, and he wheels around to gape at Derek, screeching to a stop. Derek freezes, his heart in his throat. He can’t believe he just said that. He can’t believe he opened his mouth and let those words fall out of it. He can’t believe that they haven’t even gotten out of the car park yet and he’s already fucked this up. 

Stiles stares at him for a full ten seconds while Derek’s heart tries to re-start itself, and then a soft smile starts to light up his face. His eyes are easy and sweet, and his gaze keeps Derek trapped in his seat. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, not when he’s a grown man and Stiles is a mere eighteen-year-old, but he can’t help the squirmy feeling in his stomach. He can’t help the way he falls apart, in the best way, when Stiles is around. 

“Oh, buddy,” Stiles says, pushing his foot back down on the pedal. “I am going to woo you so hard.”

*

Derek doesn’t see much of Stiles around Christmas. There’s too much going on with last minute school stuff – it’s Stiles’s last year, and he’s got a lot of catching up to do – and with the lead up to Christmas, he’s been spending more and more time with his dad. Derek worries, a little, that the date scared him off, even though they had a good time. He tosses and turns in bed, panicking quietly, and wondering whether he should call, or text, or go over there. He worries and worries until he’s even more exhausted than usual. 

And then Stiles drops by on Christmas Eve, a present tucked under his arm and a DVD in his hand, and Derek can breathe again. 

“I have to be back in time to open presents,” Stiles says, hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the loft. “But I thought we could watch this?”

He holds up the Muppets Christmas Carol, and Derek feels something crack inside his chest. 

“I used to watch that with my family, every Christmas Eve. Laura loved it, although Cora was scared of Gonzo.” He thinks back fondly, his eyes stinging slightly, and watches Stiles swallow thickly. 

“It was my mom’s favourite Christmas movie,” Stiles says. “We used to watch it every Christmas Eve, pause it at the bit where Scrooge falls into his grave, and then watch the rest on Christmas morning, so that it matched the film.”

Derek stands up, pads slowly across the loft and hesitantly wraps his arms around Stiles. He’s not quite sure how to do this, but Stiles collapses against him, warm and willing, and Derek squeezes him tightly. Stiles draws back after a moment, eyes dry but tired, sad, and Derek takes the DVD off him. 

“Bring back an old tradition?” Derek offers quietly, holding it up. 

Stiles stares at him intently for a second, and then he murmurs, “More like starting a new one.”

*

“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long,” Stiles exclaims, from where he’s sitting in front of the Television, rifling through a cardboard box that he brought with him. Derek watches the process warily, carefully adding sugar to his mug. He stirs in a fourth when Stiles isn’t looking, not eager to be teased about having such a sweet tooth. 

“What’s taken you this long?” Derek asks slowly. He turns, leans against the counter and sips his tea slowly. 

“Batman!” Stiles says, whipping around with a handful of DVD’s held up in the air. “We have to watch them all and drool over Alfred’s competency.”

“No,” Derek says immediately, sipping his tea. He starts to trek across the loft. 

“Yes,” Stiles insists. “We’re watching Batman.”

“We could do that,” Derek says, pausing outside his bedroom door. “Or you could follow me in here and see what happens.”

Stiles looks hilariously torn, his eyes wide. 

“No sex, obviously, not yet,” Derek says. “But make-outs could definitely happen behind this door. I’ll leave it up to you.”

He takes another sip of his tea, and then turns to open his bedroom door. He listens hard, and is rewarded with the sound of Stiles scrambling across the loft, DVD’s thoroughly forgotten. 

Derek isn’t stupid, though. He knows the Batman marathon has only been shelved. He’ll just have to think of increasingly creative distractions. 

*

“We cannot watch the entirety of Lord of the Rings in one night, Stiles.”

“That sounds like the attitude of a quitter, Derek, and I don't date quitters.”

*

“You’re a total Hufflepuff,” Stiles says. He’s tucked up in Derek’s bed, covers pulled up to his chin while Harry Potter plays on the laptop. He’s lit only by the glow of the screen, and Derek pauses in the doorway to watch him for a moment, taking in every inch of him. He looks a bit like a burrito at the moment, but Derek will take it. 

“Why did that sound like an accusation?” Derek asks, amused. “There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t. Hufflepuff’s are kind and good and vicious as fuck when it comes to their friends. You ever seen a badger? They’re terrifying. You make a good Hufflepuff.”

Derek doesn’t know whether to laugh or roll his eyes. He shucks off his slippers instead – Stiles bought him new Star Wars ones for Christmas – and crawls into bed. Stiles watches him happily, mouth tipped up, and then whines when Derek pulls back the covers to climb in beside him. Derek kisses Stiles to distract him and tucks himself in, rearranging the pillows behind him and reaching for his glasses so he can see the screen. 

“What House are you?” he asks. 

“Slytherin,” Stiles says, something deeper in his tone. “Don’t you think?” 

“Mmm,” Derek agrees. “Loyal, smart, dedicated. Sounds like you.”

Stiles goes quiet, and when Derek peeks at him, his eyes are wide and fixed firmly on the screen, his cheeks pink. Derek dips sideways and presses a kiss against his cheekbone, watching the blush deepen. They’re not soft, exactly, but they have their moments, and this is one that Derek’s going to remember for a while. 

“Shut up and watch the movie,” Stiles grumbles, although he doesn’t sound truly upset.

“Yes, dear,” Derek says, purely for the pleasure of listening to Stiles splutter. 

He curls an arm around Stiles’ protesting form, turns the volume up on the laptop, and settles in for a long, comfortable night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much! Please leave a comment/kudos if you liked and let me know what you thought, I'd love to hear from you. And come say hey @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr! Thank you!


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